


Kickstart

by mermaidsahoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Canon - Book & Movie Combination, F/M, I should not be writing another story but here we go, I'm taking a lot of liberties with the canon story just fyi, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22894084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mermaidsahoy/pseuds/mermaidsahoy
Summary: Sansa is about to be put to death in King’s Landing under Joffrey’s orders, after Robb wins another battle. Just before she is killed, she prays to the old gods to save her.Sandor is a rancher with quite a few acres of land, far enough away from town that he is able to keep mostly to himself, just as he likes it to be. He is out checking the fences on his property when he stumbles across a red-haired, oddly dressed girl laying in the field. He brings her home, and when she awakes, he is surprised that she has no idea where is she or how she got there.Sandor and Sansa piece together that she has leapt through time, and is now in modern day Westeros.Trying to cope with time travel and her place in this new world, Sansa learns about what happened to her family all those years ago, and Sandor begins to realize he is falling for a girl who doesn’t even belong in his timeline. Just what do the old gods have in mind?
Relationships: Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 70
Kudos: 131





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sansa is aged up to 18 and Sandor is 29. This is an AU where Sandor his family did not exist in the canon timeline. There are other characters who will also deviate from the canon timeline, but not many as I want to focus mostly on Sandor and Sansa.

Sansa stood at her window, looking out at the sun slowly rising over the towers. This was her last morning alive, and strangely, she felt nothing. 

At first, Joffrey’s sentencing had filled her with unspeakable horror and fear, but now, having stayed awake all night to contemplate her doom, Sansa found she was unable to even muster a tear. Perhaps she was in shock, or denial. Or perhaps...maybe a tiny part of her felt relieved. That her torment in this gods-forsaken castle would be over. That at last she could rest. The months of quiet resistance and fighting to stay alive had left her drained, weary. 

This kind of behavior was not what a wolf should be, Sansa knew. She shouldn’t be led like a lamb to her slaughter; she should fight, think of a way to change the king’s mind, or try to escape. She should go down howling. But she was so tired. All her prayers, all her desperate please for help had done nothing. Perhaps the gods really weren’t real. 

  
  


Maybe the old gods had turned their backs on her for betraying her father. 

Her door flew open, and Meryn Trant stood there, smirking. “Come, Lady Stark. It would not do to keep Ser Payne waiting.” 

In a fit of irony, Joffrey decided her head should be chopped off, so she could be like her traitor father. 

Sansa was led from her tower to the throne room. Joffrey had wanted to execute her at the Sept of Baylor, but Cersei had managed to convince him that killing Sansa in front of a crowd might cause a riot. Even though she was the daughter of a traitor, Sansa had earned some sympathy amongst the smallfolk, caused by her public beatings and humiliations in court. So she was to be beheaded in the throne room: an odd choice, but she supposed Joffrey wanted to watch it from the Iron Throne. 

The lords and ladies of the court were assembled, waiting for her. Tyrion Lannister, his mismatched eyes full of grief and anger, met hers across the room. After Joffrey handed down her sentence, Sansa had vaguely heard the dwarf trying to argue for her life. He had been silenced only when Joffrey threatened to behead him too. In the end, it seemed that not even another Lannister could stand up to Joff. 

Cersei was sitting still next to the throne, her face pale and hands clasped tightly. While Sansa knew the queen held no love for her, it seemed that deep down beneath the bitterness, lust for power, and pride, the woman felt some pity. A lot of good that did her. 

Joffrey was waiting on the throne, looking so gleeful his face was becoming flushed. At the bottom of the stairs to the dais was a wooden block. Spread on the floor was a fur throw, and it took Sansa a moment to realize it had belonged to a wolf. Ilyn Payne waited nearby, holding a large ax. 

Sansa felt as if she was outside her own body, watching everything but not a part of it. This was happening to someone else, wasn’t it? She, the daughter of Winterfell, was about to be beheaded by the king and her former betrothed. The notion refused to sink in. 

Joffrey stood, and all eyes were on him. “Sansa Stark,” he drawled. “You are being executed for because of your traitor of a brother, who refuses to bend the knee. Let this be a message, loud and clear, to anyone who opposes me and my place as king. Apparently, your father’s head wasn’t enough to get through the thick skulls of Northerners.” 

He paused, waiting for some reaction from her, but Sansa just stared at the floor, numb. 

“Well!” he snapped. “Do you have any last words? Aren’t you going to plead for your life?”

At that, Sansa raised her head. That’s what he wanted from her: to grovel, cry, wail, beg for mercy. And a short time ago, maybe she would have done exactly that. But now...somehow, face to face with her impending death, Sansa let go. Let go of all the held back emotions: anger, desperation, fear, and fury that had clogged her head and heart for too long. 

“I am a Stark of Winterfell,” she answered in a clear, loud voice. She raised her chin defiantly. “I have the blood of the First Men, the North, the wolf. And I will not grovel before the likes of you.” 

The court buzzed with surprised, shocked whispers. Tyrion’s mouth twitched and something like pride and regret crossed his face. Joffrey’s skin turned purple with rage. 

“Ser Payne! Bring me her head.” 

Trant roughly grabbed Sansa’s arm and forced her down to kneel at the block, and slammed her head down. Sansa stared at the fur below her, and heard heavy footsteps advance. 

_ Please _ , she begged silently.  _ Please old gods, hear me, Sansa Stark. Save me if you can. Give me a second chance. _

There was a loud whooshing sound of steel through air, and then all turned black. 

*** 

Sandor clicked his tongue at Stranger, his best horse. The pair were cantering towards the southern fences, on a routine inspection. The sky was blue above them, the weather fine, and Sandor couldn’t help but feel more content in this moment than he had been in a long time. 

In the distance, cattle lowed lazily as they moved through the field. Sandor had bought his ranch five years ago, using his inheritance, and had worked hard to carve out a piece of life for himself, earning enough to keep the property up and running, and the animals taken care of. He had a little spit of a farm back near the house, and the wide open land was left to his cattle and horses. Now he had earned a name and respect among other ranchers, farmers, and the townspeople, and while the work was hard, he loved it. 

This life also meant he was mostly alone. Just as he preferred it to be. 

Occasionally, he had considered what it would be like to have a wife, a family, but years of one-night stands and fruitless pursuits of women who turned out to be shallow or didn’t want the life of a rancher left him feeling hopeless on the issue. Perhaps it was better this way. Hardly any woman he had been with wanted him for more than his body. 

At least the animals did not care about the scars. 

Feeling Stranger pulling at the bit, Sandor snapped out of his musings and let the horse gallop as he wished, only steering when they got too far off track. The fences were just over this next little hill. 

Suddenly, Stranger whinnied and pulled a hard left. “Hey!” Sandor tightened his grip, but the stubborn horse resisted, desperate to head towards a clump of trees. Sandor tried to tug him to a stop, and the horse reared and snorted. “What is it, you devil?” Sandor chided. He climbed out of the saddle and peered at the black stallion’s face. His eyes were wide and nostrils were flexing. Stranger tossed his mane and pulled again towards the trees. “Fine, lead on, you brute.” 

Sandor held onto the reins and let the horse go. Stranger sometimes had a sixth sense for things that were wrong, and Sanodr wondered if the horse had picked up the scent of something. He reached to the back of the saddle and pulled out his rifle. 

As they neared the trees, Sandor saw something in the tall grass. Stranger whinnied softly, slowing to a hesitant walk. He showed no signs of bolting, so Sandor left him at the tree edge and moved forward to investigate. 

Parting the grass aside, Sandor sucked in a deep breath. A girl was laying there. 

She had long, flowing red hair, and wore an odd dress, like something out of a medieval movie. Her skin was pale, but she had warm, pink cheeks, a little nose, and rosy lips. A light spray of freckles covered her nose. Her eyes...were closed. That snapped Sandor out of his perusal, and a spike of horror hit him. Was she dead?

Carefully, he reached for her neck and sighed in relief when he felt a pulse. Scratching his chin, Sandor wondered how and why a beautiful girl had ended up passed out in his field. Maybe she’d been at a party and wandered off? He knew sometimes the local teenagers and college kids liked to throw alcohol laden gatherings out in the country. Maybe she drank too much, or did drugs. Either way, he couldn’t leave her there. 

Sighing, Sandor returned to Stranger and placed his gun back, then led the horse closer. He figured if the girl awoke, seeing a big, scarred man with a gun would send her into hysterics. 

He knelt back down and tapped her cheek. “Hey, girl. Wake up.” She did not even stir. 

Sandor twisted his mouth, suddenly uncomfortable with the idea that maybe she’d been drugged by some loser and dragged out here to be raped. She was still fully clothed, and did not look like she’d been hurt, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t been. As gently as he could, Sandor scooped her up into his arms and with some difficulty managed to arrange her in the saddle so she wouldn’t fall. The girl did not awake at all. 

Thankfully they were not too far from the house. Sandor decided to bring her there first, and then if the girl still didn’t snap out if it, he would call an ambulance to come get her. The last thing he needed was to be responsible for some lost girl. 

*** 

The first thing Sansa felt was how dry her mouth was. The next was how heavy her lids were. The next was that she was lying on something soft, and the scent of food was drifting by her face. Mustering all her strength, she forced her eyes open. 

After a few moments, she managed to focus on the wall before her. A hat of some kind was hanging on a hook, on a wall that looked like it was made of wood. Blinking, Sansa looked down at herself. She was laying on some sort of couch, covered in a woven, multicolored blanket. 

Confusion grew as she glanced around the room. It was spare but clean, with another couch and some big chairs she had never seen before. Next to her was a wooden table, with a cup of water. 

Water. Sansa weakly reached out, deciding that wherever she was, she wouldn’t be able to handle it until she drank something. Her shaking fingers closed around the cup, and she managed to lift her head to take a sip. It was cool and delicious. 

A clattering sound startled her, and Sansa gazed in trepidation towards a doorway at the far end of the room. She heard a click clack of toenails, and a black and white dog trotted into view. It wagged its tail at her and came closer, sniffing curiously. Sansa smiled and reached her free hand out, giggling when the dog licked her. It gave a little yip, and the clattering sounds in the other room halted. 

Sansa froze and pulled the blanket up to her neck as footsteps approached. An impossibly large man filled the doorway, wiping his hands on some sort of cloth. He wore strange looking clothing, and his dark hair was chin length. Even from where she lay, she could see the clear gray of his eyes appraising her. 

He flung the cloth over his shoulder and leaned against the doorway, folding his arms. The dog left Sansa and moved to its master. “You’re finally awake,” the man spoke. His voice was deep and gravely. Sansa swallowed, still gripping the cup. “Thought I was going to have to take you to the hospital.” When she made no answer, the man frowned and took a couple steps towards her. Sansa gasped and withdrew farther into the couch. Her head was spinning. “Please don’t hurt me,” she croaked, voice still dry. 

The man stopped. “I’m not going to hurt you, girl.” He looked almost angry. “If I wanted to, I could have hurt you a million times by now. No need to cower like that.” He started to come closer again, and Sansa was trapped, watching him approach. He was near enough now that she could see the features of his face, including bad scarring on one side. The skin was pulled and twisted, but had somehow been healed. They still made a sharp contrast to the rest of his face: dark eyebrows pulled down, the grey eyes, a hooked nose, and stern mouth. In the back of her mind, Sansa thought he had the look of a northman. 

“Can you sit up?” he asked, more quietly, like he was trying to soothe a frightened animal. Sansa managed to scoot herself farther up against the pillow at her back, never taking her eyes off him. He was standing in front of her now, and seemed to not know what to do. “W-where am I?” she asked, hoping that if she talked he would leave her alone. 

His mouth twitched. “You’re at my house, on Clegane Ranch.” The name meant nothing to her, and Sansa was feeling more and more confused. “I see….and...who are you?” she continued. It wasn’t polite, but her fear kept the well-practiced courtesies as bay. “Sandor Clegane. Who are you?” he countered. He didn’t know? Sansa’s brow furrowed as she chewed her lip. The man’s eyes darted to her mouth and then back up at her again. “I am Sansa Stark, daughter of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Stark,” she recited, and waited for the recognition to spread across his face. 

He stared at her blankly. “Ok then. Sansa.” She blinked at his improper use of her first name. Who was this Clegane? Where was she? 

“Please,” she tried again. “Please, can you tell me how I have come to be here?” The man looked surprised now, and he moved to sit in one of the big chairs. “I was hoping you could tell me that.” The situation was becoming more and more indiscernible to Sansa. “I...I don’t know. I was just in King’s Landing…” The memory of her almost death shook her body and she spilled the water. “Oh!” The man left his chair and took the cup from her. “Don’t worry about it. Here.” He handed her the cloth from his shoulder, and Sansa was oddly grateful for the moment to mop up the water and compose herself. 

“Kings Landing, eh?” He reached down to scratch one of the dog’s ears. “That’s a long way from here. You mean you don’t remember how you got all this way?” 

Unexpectedly, tears pricked at her eyes and Sansa felt her lip tremble. The man sighed, and looked down at the dog for a moment. When his face lifted again, she saw his eyes had softened somewhat. “Are you hungry?” Surprisingly, she was. “Yes, Ser.” A flash confusion crossed his face, and he shrugged, turning back to the doorway. “No need to call me Sir. Sandor is fine. Come on, I’ll give you something to eat.” 

Sansa watched as he and the dog disappeared, and after a few moments battling with her options, Sansa swung her legs over the couch and shakily followed. Upon entering the other room where the delicious smells were coming from, she halted and stared, open-mouthed. 

Her mind quickly grasped recognizable objects such as the wooden table, chairs, and pots and pans hanging on the stone wall, and formulated the conclusion that this was a kitchen, but she had no idea what to make of the other things she saw. 

Sandor was standing in front of a large black and silver box, stirring something in a large pot. Sansa gaped at it and the smaller silver box that hung above the man’s head, with what looked like some kind of handle attached. Swinging around, she saw another large, silver box against the wall, a similar looking handle on the front. She gaped at it, wondering what it was. 

“Here.” The man broke into her jumbled thoughts. Sansa turned to see him placing a bowl full of soup on the table, along with a spoon and another cup of water. She approached slowly, her stomach rumbling at the sight of food. “Sit and eat,” he told her firmly. It seemed like he did not intend to harm her just yet, so Sansa gratefully sank into the chair and picked up her spoon. The dog came over and lay by her chair, tail wagging. 

The soup was incredible, filled with vegetables and chunks of chicken in a fragrant broth. Sansa tried to remember her manners and not gulp it down. She had not eaten the dinner brought to her tower room the night before. Clegane filled a bowl for himself and brought over a slices of fresh bread on a plate. She watched as he sat down in a chair opposite her and the dog left her side to sit by him. “You’re not getting any handouts,” the man told him, a smile quirking around his mouth. He looked up to see her staring and she ducked her head, blushing. They ate in silence, save for the scrape of spoons. Sansa sat straight and primly, resorting back to her manners and the shield they had provided for her in King’s Landing. The dog eventually gave up and disappeared through a small door cut into the larger kitchen door. It must lead to outside. 

“This is very good,” she told him, hoping the compliment would earn her some favor. And it wasn’t a lie: the soup was delicious. Clegane only grunted and continued eating. Sansa wilted slightly at this response, but decided not to lose heart just yet. He had helped her, and therefore he could not be too bad a man, whatever his manners were. 

Her curiosity about the big black and silver boxes caused her gaze to wander over to them. Now that Clegane had moved away, she could see below the soup pot that there were some round knobs, as well as another handle that had a cloth hanging from it. At the back of the box there were glowing numbers, but Sansa did not know what those meant. 

She glanced back at the man sitting across from her, and jumped when she realized he was staring at her. Or rather, watching her. “Want some more?” he asked, nodding at her bowl. “Yes, please,” Sansa replied automatically. He stood up, and once again Sansa noticed how tall he was. He wore some sort of patterned, long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up, displaying strong tanned arms. She blushed again and looked away as he took her bowl, only daring to peek as he refilled it from the big silver pot. 

“Please, Clegane,” she began, deciding that she needed to know where she was.”How did you come to find me?” The man turned from the box, and regarded her silently for a moment before answering. “I was riding my horse through my land and found you lying in the grass. You were unconscious, or asleep. I’m not sure. You wouldn’t wake up, so I brought you back to my house.” 

Sansa thought about his answer as he deposited the bowl of soup back in front of her and then proceeded to refill his own. “Are you sure you don’t remember how you got here?” 

Sansa shook her head, feeling lost. “No...I...was in King’s Landing, and then….” She wondered if she should tell him about her beheading. Or near beheading. Then another thought occurred to her. Perhaps she was dead and this was the afterlife? Was the realm of the gods different than anyone had believed?

Clegane sighed as he sat back down in his chair and directed his gaze at her. “Why don’t you start from the beginning. Retrace your steps. What were you doing in King’s Landing?” 

“I...was in my tower, waiting for Meryn Trant to come fetch me.” She licked her lips. That moment felt a million years ago. Clegane’s brow furrowed, but he did not interrupt. “Then he came and led me to the throne room. The king...Joffrey, was there, and the queen. And the nobles. And Ser Payne…” Her hand drifted to her neck, under her hair. There was no cut. 

The man sighed. “Look, I can’t help you if you’re not going to tell me what really happened.” Sansa shot her eyes to his, confused. “I’m not lying. I’m telling you exactly what happened.” 

Clegane twisted his mouth into a frown and rolled his eyes. “Fine, you’re in a throne room. What happened next?” Sansa swallowed. “I was to be beheaded.” 

That seemed to shock him. “What? Beheaded? What are you talking about?” 

“I was being executed for my brother’s refusal to bend the knee to King Joffrey.” Sansa watched his reaction growing from confusion to disbelief. “Bend the knee? What does that mean?”

Sansa was taken aback. “Why, swearing fealty to the king and declaring him the true king of Westeros. Robb is fighting him because he killed our father, Ned Stark, for exposing the Lannisters for the evil plots against Robert Baratheon.”

Clegane said nothing, only stared at her, and Sansa grew more uncomfortable. 

“Surely you have heard of this? Are we...are we not in Westeros?” Panic was beginning to beat within her chest. What was happening?

“Of course we are in Westeros.” Clegane pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Look, girl, I don’t know what game you’re playing -” 

At his words, Sansa felt her hot Stark temper get the better of her, and she stood up quickly, forgetting all her pleasantries. “My name is Sansa Stark, not _girl_ , and I am playing no game, I assure you Ser!” 

He seemed stunned by her outburst, but only for a moment. His face turned into a glower and he stood, towering over her, and Sansa fought the urge to shrink back. Despite being her apparent rescuer, he was indeed scary and there did not appear to be anyone else around who could help her. “And I told you not to call me “Sir”, or “Ser”, or whatever stupid title you think I have,” he spat viciously. “Do you really expect me to believe any of what you just told me?” 

Sansa had started to back away, and now she felt the cool wall behind her. Clegane closed in, a thunderous expression making him even more frightening, and Sansa bit her lip, cowering. “If there’s one thing I hate, it’s a liar,” he seethed. His breath was hot against her face. 

Sansa squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for him to hit her. Nothing happened. 

She heard him sigh, and then rough fingers took hold of her chin, not ungently. “Look at me, girl.” Slowly she opened her eyes to meet his piercing grey ones. “I told you I’m not going to hurt you.” He sighed again. “I don’t want any trouble. I found you on my land, but I have no right to keep you here. I’ll let you use the phone and you can call anyone you want to come pick you up.” 

Sansa swallowed. She did not know what a phone was or what he meant by calling someone, but it seemed clear that he was going to let her leave if she wanted. But to go where? 

“I...I don’t understand,” she whispered. “A phone?” 

He pressed his lips together and pulled back, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small square-shaped device. With a flick of his thumb, a piece of it opened, and Sansa saw a brightly colored blue picture, and beneath it more letters and numbers. “This,” he gestured. “It’s a phone. Surely you’ve seen one?” His tone was sarcastic, but Sansa was much too intrigued and afraid of the device to register it. 

“But...what is it?” she asked timidly. Clegane stared at her, looking bewildered. Then he looked at her dress. 

“Are you...from one of those communities that doesn’t use technology?” he questioned. “You know, like the Amish?”

Sansa was growing increasingly anxious that his words did not make sense to her. “No...I am from Winterfell. Like I said, my father is Lord Eddard Stark.” She waited for the recognition to finally appear on his face. “Winterfell,” he muttered, and crossed his arms. “You’re from Winterfell.” 

“Yes!” Sansa latched on to this, hoping something finally had clicked between them. “Surely you can’t be in Westeros and not have heard of Winterfell, or my family.” Or King Joffrey and the Lannisters, for that matter. 

Clegane scratched at the dark stubble at his chin, and came to some sort of resolution. “Alright, look, clearly you’ve had a rough time. Why don’t you take a shower and we will talk about it later.” 

A shower? Did he mean for her to bathe? Suddenly the sound of getting clean the washing the filth of Trant’s hands on her sounded heavenly, and Sansa nodded, relieved. “Come on, I’ll show you where it is.” 

Clegane led her out of the kitchen and back into the room with the strange couches and chairs. From this angle Sansa now saw a large black box at the other side of the room, but she had no time to ponder what its purpose was as Clegane continued down a hallway. He stopped at another doorway, reached inside, and the room was suddenly filled with light. 

Sansa peeked in, and her jaw dropped. It had the appearance of some sort of bathing chamber, but the large white bowl and the large white tub were nothing she had ever fathomed. “Towels are in the closet, here,” Clegane said, opening a small door inside the chamber to show her. “There’s also some shampoo and stuff in there.” 

He noticed her staring at everything. He began pointing out the sink, the toilet, and the tub, and then a long silver object hanging from the wall, which he called the shower-head. “Water comes out of it if you turn these knobs.” He demonstrated, and Sansa gasped as water streamed out from the silver objects. One of them, inside the tub, looked familiar enough that she knew it must be a faucet, so that must be what this shower-head was as well. 

“If you need any help just call out,” he said. “Yes. Thank you, Se- Clegane,” Sansa demurred, lowering her eyes and giving him a little curtsy. “Uh...okay, I’ll leave you to it then.” He left, closing the door behind him. 

Sansa figured out the lock, and the pressed against the door, gazing around her. As much as she was hesitant about these new ways of cleaning, the hot water streaming out into the tub beckoned her. She located the soap and towels and set them in a spot that would be easy to reach, then began to fight with her dress. She wasn't wearing a formal gown by any means, but the laces were still tricky. In the end, she managed to push it down, as well as her underclothes, and kick them to the side. 

The sink had a mirror, and Sansa examined her reflection, wondering if she had changed in light of these recent strange events. She looked the same, perhaps a little pale, and the purple shadows around her eyes indicated she had not slept well in a long time. 

She explored more of the bathroom, and discovered a comb in the cabinets, as well as a very small brush and a tube of something minty. She made a mental note to ask Clegane about them later, and then she set to the task of combing her hair. Once she felt she had satisfactorily combed out the tangles, she examined the strange toilet. Clegane had told her to press a little sliver handle once she was done using it. Deciding to see what happened before she relieved herself, Sansa pushed on the lever, and cried out when the loud whooshing sound resounded, and the water in the toilet swirled, growing smaller until it was sucked through a hole in the bottom, and then more water trickled in. 

Fascinated, Sansa decided she could no longer wait and she used the toilet; as she did, she discovered a roll of soft paper hanging on the wall. Hoping she was using it right, Sansa cleaned up and then pressed the lever again, watching as clean water refilled the bowl. 

Finally it was time for her bath. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took a lot longer to upload than I thought it would. I have been working on personal writing projects lately and those have taken priority. I do plan to keep working on this though! Updates just might be inconsistent. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Once he was sure she wasn’t coming out of the bathroom any time soon, Sandor walked upstairs and into his room, pulling his phone out again. He didn’t want the girl to overhear him talking and get spooked. 

With a heavy sigh, he dialed Elder Brother’s number. The man had been incredibly helpful to Sandor in his anger management program, and had become a good friend besides. As a doctor, Sandor thought that maybe he could help him with this strange girl, who behaved as if she’d never seen a phone or a stove or any other appliance before. 

As the phone rang, Sandor thought about what she’d said: she claimed to be almost beheaded. What was that about? Maybe she was part of some weird cult. King’s Landing was an awful city and Sandor wouldn't put it past the vermin there to make up some sort of medieval fetish to live by. His head was starting to spin from the strangeness of their interactions.

“Sandor, what a pleasant surprise,” Elder Brother finally answered, his voice soothing and grounding Sandor immediately. “Ray, I wish this was just a chat, but I need your help. Got kind of a situation.” 

“Oh?”

“I found this girl on my land. She was just laying out in the field, unconscious. I didn’t know what to do so I took her home. She finally woke up, and started saying all this weird stuff about King’s Landing and Winterfell. I think she might be in some sort of trouble, but I can’t get anything out of her that makes sense. Do you think you could come down here?” 

There was a moment of silence on the other end. “Winterfell, you say?” “Yea, she said she is from there. But that’s impossible. The place is just a museum, a tourist trap. Unless she’s an employee.” Sandor sucked in a breath. “There’s something else too. She said she had just been in King’s Landing, and was about to be beheaded. Can you believe that? She’s also wearing this dress, like she’s from a medieval fair.”

“I see. Yes, I think I better come down there. Did you call the police?” 

“No, I didn’t want to cause a scene unless I had to. The girl doesn’t seem crazy or likely to hurt herself, she just seems scared. Besides all the weird stuff she keeps saying. She acted like she’d never seen a phone or a toilet before.” 

“This...is quite interesting, to be sure. I’ll head to the ranch right away, Sandor,” Ray assured him. Relieved, Sandor said goodbye and decided to check on the girl. Sansa. It was a pretty name, and Sandor couldn’t help but admit that she was very pretty. In fact, prettier than he’d seen in a long time. Despite being confused by her sudden and odd appearance in his life, he couldn’t help but be curious and a little intrigued by her. Poor thing was probably a head case. He felt a little bad about yelling at her earlier, but what she said was so strange Sandor had just assumed she was making something up. He really hated liars, and expected the girl to just answer the questions honestly. It wasn’t until she’d cowered away from him and braced herself that he thought she was perhaps abused in some way. He knew that look. 

The thought then occurred to him that maybe she had been trafficked. He knew some men were disgusting and evil and took pleasure in sick fantasies. Maybe she’d been brainwashed into pretending to be some princess from a fairytale. The idea made his stomach churn. 

The water was still running in the bathroom, and she hadn’t called out, so Sandor decided to leave her in peace and he opened the laptop on the desk in the living room. He didn’t use it much, just for occasional research for the ranch or to order something. Bringing up the search engine, he typed in ‘Winterfell’. 

Immediately he was flooded with results: articles about visiting the historic site, pictures, and links to videos. Deciding to go to the official website, Sandor clicked the link and watched as the page loaded to a wintery landscape, the castle and grounds of Winterfell rising above the snow. The picture rotated through a series of photos of the sights. Scrolling, Sandor read captions about tour guides, times to visit, and things to do. He found a button about the history of the place and clicked on it. 

Scanning the words, he eventually caught sight of a familiar name. “Eddard Stark, the last Stark Lord of Winterfell, was named Hand of the King and left Winterfell to serve King Robert Baratheon in King’s Landing. Once there, Eddard, also known as Ned, became entrenched in political schemes and discovered that the eldest son of King Robert was in fact the son of Queen Cersei and her brother Ser Jaime Lannister.” Sandor groaned at that, but decided to keep reading. “While the details surrounding this are somewhat vague, it is believed that Eddard confronted the Lannisters following the untimely death of King Robert. He was accused of conspiring against the crown, and imprisoned. Many Northmen who followed Eddard to King’s Landing were killed or imprisoned during the fight.” 

Sandor skipped a few sentences, then picked up at “Eddard Stark was beheaded at the Sept of Baelor. Following his death, the North revolted and marched against the Lannisters. Robb Stark, Eddard’s oldest, became King in the North.” Seeing a link to the Stark family, Sandor decided to click on that, taking him to a new page. He scanned it until:

“While the fates of most of Eddard and Catelyn Stark’s children are unknown, the most mysterious is the disappearance of the eldest daughter, Sansa Stark.” 

Sandor froze, staring at the screen before he shook himself and continued reading, leaning forward so he wouldn’t miss anything. 

“While we know that Sansa traveled to King’s Landing with her father and younger sister, Arya, and that she was kept a hostage by the Lannisters, any record of her disappears following the year 299 AC. Once betrothed to King Joffrey, much of Sansa’s experiences within The Red Keep are sadly unknown. Many scholars believe that someone helped her escape, while many others believe she was killed and the Lannisters attempted to cover it up. There was some mention in the texts of Tyrion Lannister that Sansa was being punished for her brother Robb’s victories in battle. There is no other surviving record of her among the rest of the Stark family. It is as if she disappeared. 

On tours of Winterfell, you can see the eldest Stark daughter’s bedroom. It is a popular superstition among visitors and students of the history of the North that when the wind blows just right, you can hear her singing in the stairway.” 

Right then, Sansa’s soft voice called out, “Clegane? Ser Clegane?” Sandor jumped in his chair; he’d been so engrossed in the story that he’d forgotten all about her. Closing the laptop, he swiftly walked to the bathroom. The door was cracked to a tiny crack. “Yes?” 

“I...I’m afraid I don’t have anything clean to wear. Would you be so kind as to let me borrow some clothes?” 

Sandor could have smacked himself. Of course she didn’t have anything else to change into besides that dress. Although a part of him thought she looked good in it, with that low cut showing her creamy skin, he wasn’t going to deny her clean clothes. He wasn’t that much of an asshole. 

“Sure, I’ll go see what I can find.” Making his way back up the stairs, Sandor pondered over the story he’d read on the website. It seemed to match everything the girl told him. But she could have read it herself. It wasn’t possible, was it? That somehow she really was from that time? 

He shook his head. “I’ve been watching too many movies.” 

Sandor dug through his clothes, but the only thing he could come up with was a hoodie. She would need more than that. He trudged across the hall to the other bedroom. Against the far wall under the window was a trunk where he kept all of his sister’s things. While he wasn’t keen on the idea of disturbing them, it seemed to be his only option at this point. Digging through the carefully folded clothes and sachets of lemongrass and lavender, he found a tshirt and a pair of sweatpants that seemed about Sansa’s size. 

There weren’t any bras or underwear. Sandor hoped she wouldn’t be appalled. He could always throw her old things into the washing machine anyway, and she’d have them back by tonight. 

Armed with the clothes, Sandor returned to the bathroom downstairs and handed them to her through the door, with some difficulty. “Best I could find that might fit you. No underwear, I’m afraid, but we can wash what you have.” He waited for a response. Surprisingly, he heard her squeak, “Pants? I couldn’t possibly…” Holding back a snort, Sandor rasped, “Do I look like I have dresses lying around?” 

She gave a little sigh, and Sandor was suddenly filled with a strange urge to see what she was doing in there. Was she naked or wrapped in a towel? He shook his head, disgusted with himself. Maybe it had been too long since he’d been around a woman. 

“I suppose they will have to do. Thank you, Clegane.” He grunted and moved away to sit on the couch, disturbed by his thoughts. He needed to get himself under control. Sandor did not have a squeaky clean past, but he had never preyed on or taken advantage of a woman. It disgusted him when other men did. He only wanted someone willing, even if it was for a quick tumble in the bed and he never saw her again. And he wasn’t some pervert either; he had no idea how old the girl in the bathroom was, but he wasn’t going to drool over her. Besides, she was clearly mentally unstable. At least he thought she was. After reading the article online, some doubt nudged the back of his mind. 

He heard the rumble of a vehicle, and stood up to look out the window and see if it was Ray. He saw the familiar truck pull up so he moved to open the door. Outside, the late afternoon air was cool; the smell of grass and wheat and barn animal was in the air. The sky had turned a golden amber and orange and blue. For a moment, Sandor admired the beauty of his home, so much freer and better than his time in the city. 

Ray climbed out of the green truck’s cab, cowboy hat perched on his head and the typical fatherly smile on his grizzled face. In one hand he held a nondescript medical bag, and with the other he met Sandor’s own outstretched hand with a firm shake. “Sandor,” he greeted amiably. “Ray. Come on in, glad you could come.” 

“Where is the little lady?” Ray’s thick southern drawl made Sandor smile. He’d adopted a bit of it himself, but still mostly maintained his Westerland lilt. “She’s been taking a shower. Figured she could use some time to...well you know.” Ray nodded, and set his bag on the table. “Want some coffee?” “I’ll take a mug, thank you.” Sandor started to move to the kitchen when he heard the bathroom door open. Pausing, he decided it would be best to remain in the room.

Sansa crept shyly around the corner. She was wearing the sweatpants and hoodie, which was almost long enough to reach her knees, and her damp hair was dark fire against the gray material. She was twisting one of the hoodie strings in her hands, looking unsure. She saw Ray and stopped short, her eyes growing wide. 

Sandor moved forward quickly. “Sansa, this is Ray. He’s a friend of mine.” 

Ray gave her the same fatherly smile he gave all his patients and even took his hat off. “Hello, Sansa, it is a pleasure to meet you.” He extended a hand, and after a moment, Sansa took it carefully, looking like deer ready to bolt. Sandor fought the desire to place a hand on her shoulder, to comfort her, and instead pocketed them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ser,” she said softly, and did that little curtsey thing again. Ray’s kind blue eyes took her in. “Please, won’t you sit down? Sandor was going to grab me some coffee.” Sansa let him lead her to the couch and she sat, while Ray took one of the recliners opposite her. Sitting tall and straight, with her hands folded in her lap, Sansa’s gaze found Sandor’s, and the slight worry in her brow and in the clear blue pool of her eyes told him she was concerned. 

He gave her what he hoped was an encouraging look, hating the way his scars pulled at his face. Even after the surgeries he’d had, the grafts and fillers could only do so much, and the scars were still fearsome enough that Sandor usually felt more like a monster. He was probably the kind of man that haunted this girl’s nightmares. 

She seemed to relax though, and even gave him a small smile. Feeling victorious, he said, “I’ll be back with the coffee,” and retreated into the kitchen. 

****

Sansa surveyed the older man sitting before her. He was dressed in strange clothes as well, though they looked nicer than what Clegane wore. She wondered what he was doing here. 

“I’m sure you’ve had a confusing day,” he spoke gently. “I am a doctor. Sandor asked me to come. Perhaps I can be of some help to you.” 

Sansa considered her next words. “What is a doctor?” 

“Ah, forgive me. You would call me a Maester, I believe? Or a healer?”

Understanding dawned on her. “I see.” “Sandor has told me some of what has happened to you, but I am hoping you can tell me yourself, and maybe we can come to some sort of conclusion on how you came to be here.” 

Sansa wasn’t sure why, but he seemed trustworthy enough. And it was not as if she had many other options. “I shall try, Maester Ray. It has been rather confusing as you said.” 

She described her morning in the tower, being led to the throne room, and the imminent beheading. Clegane returned bearing a mug of something hot and steaming, which he gave to Ray, and a glass of water for her, which she sipped gratefully. 

“Thank you, Sandor. You were saying, my dear?” Sansa described kneeling before the block, and then just as Ser Payne swung his axe, everything went black. “That is all I remember, until waking up here,” she finished. 

Ray had steepled his fingers together and appeared to be thinking hard. “Can you think of anything else that may have happened right before that? A conversation, maybe?”

Sansa thought for a moment. “I - I told Joffrey I wouldn’t grovel and beg for my life. It was what he wanted. He...liked to hear me beg for mercy.” She swallowed and looked away. “What was it that you told him, exactly?” Ray asked. 

“I said I am a Stark of Winterfell,” she answered. “I have the blood of the First Men, the North, the wolf. And I would not grovel before the likes of him. And then...he called for my head. And...oh...I remember praying to the Old Gods to save me.” 

A light filled Ray’s eyes at that. “Indeed. Fascinating.” He sank into thought. Sansa glanced at Clegane, who was watching Ray. “Any ideas?” he rasped. 

Ray sat back, placing his hands on his knees. “I pride myself on being somewhat of a history fan, and the history of the Starks and the Great War during that time have always intrigued me. And from my studies, there are no records of your execution, my dear. In fact, you seem to have completely disappeared from the pages of time.” 

Sansa blinked at him. “Forgive me...what do you mean?” 

“What year do you think it is, Sansa?” Ray questioned. “Why...it’s 299 AC, is it not?” 

The two men shared a look. “I wonder, would it be alright with you if I gave you a brief examination?” Ray reached for a large black case, and Sansa shrank against the couch. “I am not ill.” “Perhaps not, but you’ve had a troubling experience, and I would like to ascertain that you are in perfect health.” Ray gave her a kind look, and Sansa finally nodded. 

He pulled some odd devices from his bag. One he checked her ears with, and another he used to shine a light in her eyes. He then had her open her mouth, and looked inside it. The experience was not unlike the ministrations from the maester at Winterfell so Sansa did not feel too ill at ease. “Are you sore anywhere?” he asked. “Any bumps on the head?” She told him no, she felt fine. 

“I’ll take your pulse next.” He asked her to draw up her sleeve, and his white brow furrowed at the dark bruises on her arm. “Do you know where these are from?” “Yes,” she whispered. She glanced at Clegane, who was staring at the bruises with a mixture of anger and something else she couldn’t place. “Joffrey asked Ser Trant to beat me sometimes.” 

“I see.” Ray resumed taking her pulse, then closed up the bag. “As best I can tell, you are in good health, just in need of rest and good food. As far as your story, I have no reason to not believe it.” 

“Ray,” Clegane interjected. “You can’t mean that...that…” “Well, the girl displays no signs of lying: her story is neither rehearsed and it does match up with what we know of history. And neither does she appear to be mentally unfit. Therefore, logically, we must assume she is telling the truth.” 

“But I don’t understand how I got here,” Sansa told them. Ray moved back to his place on the chair. “My dear, somehow, incredibly, you have leapt through time. You are currently almost 800 years into the future.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ray and Sandor make arrangements for Sansa. A bit of a shorter chapter, but I want to get some of the filler stuff out of the way.

Sandor stood, throwing his hands in the air. “Do you even hear yourself, Ray? How can that possibly be true? It’s something out of a sci-fi movie. This doesn’t happen in real life!” There had to be a reasonable explanation for the girl’s appearance, her mannerisms... everything. 

Ray regarded him calmly. “Sandor, there are a great many things in the universe that we do not understand. Despite our modern way of life, advancements in technology and science do not appear to be greater than the workings of the gods. Sansa being here with us proves it.” 

Sandor shook his head, but Ray continued persuasively. “Think about it. Her clothing, the way she appeared in your field. The fact that the histories have no other record of her besides her being held captive by the Lannisters.” Ray turned back to Sansa. “I believe the gods answered your last prayer, Sansa Stark. They saved you, and brought you here. Why, I do not know. The answer may become clear later.”

Sansa sat frozen, her face pale and her pink mouth open. Sandor wished she would say something; laugh and tell them it was all a joke. But she really looked shocked and afraid. Her blue eyes darted between him and Ray. And then unexpectedly, they began to fill with tears. “If...if I really am in another time, in the future, then that means...my family is dead.” Her voice trembled and she gripped the sleeves of the hoodie between her fists, staring away at the wall. 

That certainly was not what Sandor expected to hear, and if this insanity was true, then the loss of her family would be a fresh wound, not something that had occured hundreds of years ago, lost to time along with everyone else’s ancestors. Again the urge to comfort her propelled him to take a few steps towards Sansa, as he searched for something to say. 

Ray looked at her sadly. “Yes, I am afraid so, my dear.” Sansa swallowed hard, now studying the southwestern rug at her feet as if it would provide her with more answers. She was much more composed than Sandor would have thought, but he could see the chinks in her armor weakening. “Then I am truly alone,” she replied softly, and stood up. Turning to Sandor, she continued, “I thank you for your hospitality, Ser Clegane, but I should not intrude on your home any longer.” 

It was Sandor’s turn to gape at her. “What are you talking about, girl?” “I...I should leave.”

Sandor snorted, folding his arms. “And go where?” What was she thinking? No matter what the truth was, this girl was clearly in some sort of peril, and Sandor would be damned if something happened to her, only for him to be blamed later for not watching out for her. At least, that was what he told himself. 

Ray stood up as well. “I think it would be best if you stayed here, Miss Stark. You are in a strange place, and the world is much different than you knew it to be. Perhaps in the time being we can learn more about your situation.” Sansa regarded him, unsure, and then cast her eyes at Sandor, who was starting to feel uncomfortable. He jerked his head at Ray towards the kitchen. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” 

They left Sansa in the living room and once inside the kitchen with the door shut, Sandor rounded on Ray. “What exactly are you suggesting, old man?” 

Ray smiled calmly at him. “I am suggesting that she stay here and recuperate.” “Why here? Shouldn’t she go to...I don’t know...a hospital or something?” Even as he said the words, Sandor cringed at the thought. The doctors would surely bring in shrinks and psychiatrists to poke and prod at the girl. She’d probably end up in a padded room. 

“Do you really believe that would be best for her? If she is who I believe she is, then she needs our help to adjust to a completely new life, not to be shut away in a sanitorium.” 

Sandor wanted to argue why he should help her. She was no one to him. But he thought of those sad, blue eyes, that beseeching look she’d given him, the helplessness she must feel, and he knew he did not need a reason to help her. In a matter of hours, the girl already had some kind of grip on him. 

He sighed irritably. “Fine. She can’t stay here though, you’ll need to take her with you.” “Oh no,” Ray chuckled, holding up his hands. “I think it best if she stays here. It is secluded, far from curious eyes. She would only gain attention in town.” 

“What am I supposed to do with her? In case you forgot, I have a ranch to run!” Sandor ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I don’t know the first thing about what she needs. I can’t take care of her and the ranch at the same time.” 

“I think this girl is much stronger than you give her credit for, Sandor. You forget that she is probably much more used to a ranch life than living only in a palace. Winterfell was a great keep, yes, but the North was a rough place to live. She would have grown up around hard work.” 

Sandor pinched the furrow of his brow but conceded. “Fine. She can stay here, for now. I assume I can rely on you to get her some clothes and whatever else she might need from town?” 

Ray nodded, looking pleased. “Of course. I’ll make a list. And I’ll do some more digging on her story.” He glanced at the closed kitchen door. “We should probably check on her.”

The men left the kitchen and found Sansa waiting on the couch, chewing her lip and looking anxious. “You, uh, can stay here,” Sandor told her awkwardly. “Ray’s going to get you some things from town.” He glanced out the window at the dropping sun. “I need to do some things for the animals before nightfall. Be back soon.” 

It was a relief to escape the house and stomp across the yard to the barn. Things made sense out here, with the chickens and the horses. 

*** 

Sansa gave Ray a supply list, feeling indebted to him. “Not a problem, my dear,” Ray insisted as he made notes. The girl was unfamiliar with modern terms and what ladies used these days, but then so was he. He’d have to ask a sales associate to help him. “I have no grandkids so let me spoil you. You’re a lady after all.” Sansa could not help but smile. “You’re very kind.” She glanced at the front door where Sandor had left through. “I am not sure he wants me to stay here.” 

Ray chuckled and patted her hand. “Sandor is a very private man and not around ladies very much. He’s rough around the edges but very loyal. You don’t need to be afraid of him.”

Sansa hugged herself, comforted by the soft material of the hoodie. “It is not very proper for a lady to be alone with a strange man,” she whispered. Ray blinked at her. “Ah...yes. Well, given the circumstances…” he trailed off, but Sansa understood what he meant. There really was no other option for her, after all. She was at their mercy, and though the situation grated on her ideas of propriety, Sansa knew she would have to adapt and endure, as she had in Joffrey’s court. 

Ray rose to leave once Sandor returned to the house, promising to return the next day with supplies for Sansa. Sansa gasped when they opened the door and Ray headed for a large, black, shiny carriage of some kind. The huge wheels were unlike anything she had seen before, and there were no horses to pull it. Ray opened a door and climbed in, then the carriage made a loud roaring sound. Sansa jumped, grabbing Sandor’s arm in fear. “What is that?” she cried. “It’s a truck,” Sandor answered. “It’s a kind of transportation we have here. I have one as well.” 

Sansa stared as the great black beast rolled out of the driveway, turned on its own, and headed away down the dirt road. “Is it...magic?” she asked hesitantly. “Uh...no. It’s all machinery, different pieces working together with fuel to make it run.” That explanation made no sense to Sansa, but she was so overwhelmed from the day already that she decided not to press for more.

Now that Ray was gone, it was just the two of them once more, and a decidedly awkward silence fell upon the room. Sansa stared at Sandor, and he looked uncertainly back at her. “Are you hungry?” he asked finally. “I could eat something small, please,” she replied, and followed him to the kitchen. 

Their meal was quiet, and Sandor could not help but notice how she tried to restrain her yawns at the table.  _ She really is a little lady _ , he thought with a weird fondness that he did not want to think about. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.” He led her back up the stairs and down the hall to the same guestroom where his sister’s trunk was. Sandor was glad the bed was already made. Not that he expected visitors much, if at all, but out of habit he had thrown new sheets on and covered them with a heavy quilt, and that made the room feel less bare. 

He watched Sansa look around, taking in the simple pine dresser, the trunk, and then the four-poster queen-sized bed. She turned to him and smiled shyly. “Thank you, Se-Clegane.” Sandor sighed inwardly, wondering how long it might take for her to just call him by his name. Her manners had been ingrained hard. “My room is just down there to the right if you need something in the night. The other bathroom is there.” He pointed at a closed door across the way. 

Sansa thanked him again and said she would try to rest. Sandor shut the door on his way out to give her privacy, and released a long breath. This was going to be a long night. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and Sansa get to know each other a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in a row! Can you tell I feel guilty for not updating more haha. I didn't want Sandor to be too goody-two-shoes in this story, so, ahem, slightly creepy Sandor activated.

Sandor lay on his back, staring at the dark ceiling and regretting the alcohol he’d consumed. Instead of making him tired, like he’d hoped, he felt wide awake and thinking about the red-haired girl just down the hall from him. 

After he’d left Sansa, Sandor grabbed a few beers and drank them in the solitude of his bedroom, unable to silence the thoughts running through his mind about the mysterious girl, the time traveling, and how he was now responsible for her. 

It did not help that she was beautiful, and he was very attracted to her. Sandor wasn’t a fool and he did not consider himself some leering creep, but he could not deny that the girl’s presence was intoxicating. She had almost a wild beauty to her; despite her calm, ladylike manners and the gentle way she moved, clearly well-bred, he sensed a fire in her eyes and spirit, and he longed to see that side of her more. He knew better than to try, though. She had already been through enough; she didn’t need a strange, ugly bastard like him hitting on her. 

He groaned and rubbed his eyes. There was something seriously wrong with him. With disgust, he found himself listening intently for any sounds in the house, a sign that perhaps she was awake and might come to find him. A wicked part of him, fueled by the beer, hoped she would. 

All seemed quiet, and Sandor wondered if he should check on her. With a resigned sigh, he stood up, swaying slightly, and lumbered out into the hallway. It was dark, but he knew his way well. He stepped quietly down the wooden floorboards to her room and paused, blinking as he tried to focus on the doorknob. What was he doing again?

Suddenly, the knob turned and she was standing there, practically glowing from the moonlight shining through the window behind her. Her hair was flowing down her shoulders and her face was slightly wet. Sandor stared at her, dumbfounded, with his mouth slightly agape.

“Oh!” Sansa was startled to see him too. She seemed to realize he was standing in her doorway and she hesitated, eyes wide like a deer. Sandor managed to collect himself and took a step back. “I...uh...was just going to check on you,” he said lamely, hoping she wouldn’t notice he was tipsy. She gave him a faint smile and he could see her shoulders relax. “Oh, thank you. I was just…” she trailed off, as if uncertain of why she had been leaving her room in the first place. Then she blushed and looked down.

Sandor raised an eyebrow, confused by her reaction, but intrigued. “What?” he prompted, trying not to drink in the sight of her soft skin in the long t-shirt she was wearing. It just came to her knees, and with a pleased jolt he realized it was one of his old ones. He must have put it in the closet and forgotten about it. 

Sansa did not notice his gaze. “I...wanted a drink of water.” It was a lie, Sandor knew, but he didn’t mind this time. Perhaps she was too embarrassed to tell him truly what she was doing. He would let it go. “Hmmm, well, I need one too. I’ll bring you a glass.” Sansa gave him a grateful smile and nodded, watching as he turned for the stairs. He hoped he wouldn’t stumble and gripped the rail, focusing on the dimly lit stairs. He should probably get some nightlights for the outlets around the house, since he was no longer alone.

After draining a glass of cool water, which helped clear his mind somewhat, Sandor filled a new glass for Sansa and returned to her room. The door was open, and when he looked in, she was sitting on the bed, quilt pulled up and her arms around her legs, her chin resting on her knees as she looked out the window. Sandor could not help but walk into the room towards her, using the excuse of handing her the water so he could be closer to her again. She whispered her thanks again and took a dainty sip. 

Feeling a little foolish, Sandor decided he should get out of there before he did something stupid, like touch her hair. The girl trusted him, and he could not betray that. Besides, there was no way a young, pretty thing like her would feel even a little attraction for him. From the past or not, she was out of his league. 

He had started to turn to go when her little hand reached and grabbed his, quicker than he could have expected. Startled, he stared at her small white hand in his rough brown one. “I’m sorry, I just…” she bit her lip, and Sandor watched with fascination. The drink still lingered in his system, and for a wild moment he wondered what she would do if he kissed her. 

“Could you stay with me a little while?” she finally chirped. “I don’t want to be alone.” 

Her large, sad eyes beckoned him, and with a nod he sat heavily in the chair next to the bed, wondering if he was in some parallel universe. “Can’t sleep?” he asked gruffly, trying to clear his thoughts. 

Sansa shook her head. “No. The bed is wonderful, and it is peaceful here, but...I’m not used to sleeping well.” She placed her hands in her lap, her mind clearly thinking of another place. “I couldn’t either. A few drinks usually gets me tired, but not tonight.” Sandor could have kicked himself, why was he telling her that? 

Sansa gazed at his face, and he fought the urge to squirm away, and instead tilted his head so the moonlight shone fully on his scars. Her eyes lingered, but no revulsion filled them. She just looked curious. “Are you drunk?” she asked. He huffed a laugh. “No, not this time.” He peered at her. “If that water doesn’t do it for you, I could give you something stronger, girl.” He wondered if she would get the double-meaning.

“No thank you,” she said with a shake of her head. “So polite. You don’t have to be all the time, you know. Just say what you mean.” Sandor stretched his legs out. The chair was small for him, and he was aware that his hulking size was taking up more room next to the bed than probably necessary, but he couldn’t resist pushing the line a little. Just to see. 

She regarded him quietly for a moment, chewing on her lip again. Sandor bit his own; she should stop doing that. “I haven’t been able to speak freely for a long time. My life in King’s Landing was filled with traps, and the only way for me to dodge them was to pretend to be an empty-headed, silly girl, and lie to the King about how I really felt towards my family.” 

Sandor wasn’t sure what to say. It was one of the longest speeches she’d given so far, and even though he did not quite understand the context, he could tell the environment she’d come from had been treacherous. He felt a surge of hatred for this king who had tortured this girl. 

“Sounds like a shitty place to be,” he growled. “Well, you’re not there anymore.” He wanted one of her rare smiles, but did not know how to coax one out. He wasn’t exactly great at making ladies giggle and smile at him. But to his surprise, Sansa gave a thoughtful grin and she looked around the room. “No, I’m not,” she agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally was going to have Sansa go to Sandor's room, but that felt a little out of character for her at this point in the story. Sandor in canon is always putting himself in Sansa's path, and looking for her around the Keep, so I thought it made more sense for Sandor to go seek her out in this chapter. I also wanted to explore Sandor's confused feelings for her: I've always felt he holds a mixture of disgust and contempt for himself for his attraction to her, yet he is continuously drawn to her and can't resist teasing or pushing the comfort level.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a really fun time trying to come up with ways to describe modern house-hold appliances to someone who has never seen them haha. 
> 
> It has been a while since I've read the books or seen the show so I am doing my best with references back to the canon, but I will also be taking some liberties with it as well, such as Sansa's "beheading" and disappearance becoming a history mystery. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'm well into chapter 2 so it will be posted soon.


End file.
